Archives for the month of: June, 2016

Something terrible happened yesterday.
I don’t want to talk about it today.
I’m at a friend’s cat sitting.
I’m in a lot of pain; physical and emotional.
A friend wants to know if I need anything, I already said what I needed, I’ve been saying it for months.
I look at my friend’s house and I’m transported to desperately sad and unhappy times.
Every surface is covered. Every surface has something on it. Every. Surface.
There is no view.
I think I’m allergic to her house as much as I am her cat.
I can’t believe the years I have lost to my shit.
All of it, physical and emotional.
Other people could see it, but I couldn’t.
Or at least I did not want to.
Why?
Because I was so very sad, and lonely.
Sometimes I think I haven’t moved on at all, but when I look back to yesterday, I think I’m starting to win.
It’s my time to win.
I so desperately need to travel, it’s killing me staying put. I don’t know how to make it happen, but I have to try find a way. Especially before the world implodes. Honestly, I’m really feeling the political disasters presently.
I feel like I’m in a race against time.
Only this isn’t as much fun as crystal maze.
My pain killers are kicking in now.
I hope I can sleep.
I’m wondering if I have enough masochism left in me to spend another night.
Someone called to invite me to a writing course, I can’t believe the range of emotions swirling around this one.
What is my main aim?
Freedom!
Does writing set me free, or does freedom give life to my writing.
I think we all know the answer to that.

The doctors want to charge me £25 for their evidence, the reason being the work is private not NHS. The DWP could access the information they want for free, but the onus is on me to provide information they already have access to. I know a song about this: I’ve heard it before.

Similarly, I have heard the song I’m about to detail. Let’s do it Tickertapemind style.

  • There’s a knock on the door. I open it.
  • My neighbor from downstairs thrusts a piece of paper in my hand: “Do you know anything about this?”.
  • I scan the paper, shake my head and try to give it back.
  • He refuses to take it.
  • I ask him if he will take the paper from my hand.
  • His face contorts and he tells me to hang on a minute (preparing some kind of speech).
  • I throw the paper to the ground and tell him I won’t tolerate him coming to my door like this.
  • He stands outside my now closed door and verbally abuses me, “Fucking bitch” etc.
  • I tell my friend, who I happened to be on the phone with, “I have to go”.
  • I open the door and tell the man not to knock on my door again, ever. He thinks this is his opportunity to continue his tirade. I shout pointedly, “No. You listen to me: do not ever come to my door again”.
  • I come inside and call the police. While on the phone the police tell me my friend is also on the line.
  • An hour later an officer visits. At the end of their information gathering session, he tells me “not to rise to it”.
  • The officer knocks on the neighbour’s door; he does not answer.

Apparently, I am responsible for my neighbour’s behaviour. How about fuck off. How about not only is it understandable that I shout at this man, but it is an acceptable means of asserting a boundary invasion. How about, the man not come to my door at all. Since he lives on the floor below he has come out of his way to thrust paper at me.

How about, it doesn’t matter if I did or didn’t make a noise pollution complaint. How about, it’s not appropriate to ask me what he does for a living. Or question me about his day to day movements. Or ask me any question that would be better answered by the man who so rudely interrupted my telephone call.

How about people stop and think about why it is they believe his behaviour is somehow precipitated by mine. He had a number of choices to make and he chose to lose his temper and accuse and verbally abuse me. How about, he takes responsibility for his own actions, and does what ever he has been asked to do with out complaint. How about he stop projecting bullshit at me.

How about people stop victim blaming women.

I have the right to feel safe at home.

I got a text from my bank saying I was over-drawn and had an hour to put some money in. Fortunately, I had some change in a jar. I paid it in, and feeling sorry for myself, went to get some oat milk from M&S (It’s the only place that sells it in town now). I also got some mozzarella and a bag of salad to bump up my existing food supplies. I won’t get any more money for a bit, so I was really focused about what I was buying. Then I spotted a yellow sticker. And another. Then another. All in all I came out with £30 of shopping for £10. Because it’s Marksies, the meals have actual nutritional content.

I’ve been eating a lot of smash and beans.

I gave a beggar 50p. If I could not shit myself at having spent a tenner on ‘ready meals’ then I could afford that act of kindness. (Though, to be fair to myself, the deals were very good and most of the stuff I bought was to supplement what I already have at home.) After I paid I realized what I’d done. I needed every penny left to get to my Aunties tomorrow. She wants to talk about the wills we are all beneficiaries of. Just think Jarndyce and fucking Jarndyce… we will all be dead before they are settled. This is the first time the door ways of communication have been opened since grandma’s and granddad’s funerals.

I’ve been so busy looking after my dad, that I just let them get on with it. My life continues its descent into destitution: the terror I used to feel has now subsided. This is the new normal. I always have to pull money from no where when the rent is due. There is nothing left to sell. My clothes are old and thread bare, my hair is grey and frizzy, my complexion is bland, my eyes tired, and the less said about my demeanor the better.

It’s going to take a forward thinking manager to see through that and recognize my worth. I don’t know my own worth anymore… It certainly is not the £21,000 I used to be able to command. My attempts to get sick pay, have been declined and I am forced into seeking work I am not well enough to do. If I’d been able to find work when I still had juice left in the tank, then this would be a good time to find part-time work I feel capable of doing whilst ploughing through the counselling.

Presently, I can not do both. Did I make this pact before I recognised that or after? I will commit to one thing only and see it through to completion. I have spent my life fracturing my efforts, so this time I am not going to renege on my promise to myself. I’ve have a new counsellor… I start again in two weeks.

My will be done. Before my will power completely deserts me, I will focus on my therapy. When I have wrangled my past into something manageable and my future into something worth sticking about for, then I can take on the next challenge. But for now, I’ll be doing the poor person shuffle from week to week. Aside from the flashbacks, panic attacks and the lack of sleep, I feel an underlying calm. Is this acceptance or denial?